The Lord of the Dance, Born on the 4th of Julyby DAVID CARR for the New York Times

HE'S baaaaack. Michael Flatley, the prancing king of Irish dance, the man who has been viewed as both a blessing and a curse to the once-obscure art form, is returning with "Celtic Tiger," a Dublin-inflected Vegas review that will undoubtedly draw sniffs from the critics and raves from fans.

Toe to toeLooking for somebody to blame for the seemingly endless slew of Irish dance shows? Try Michael Flatley, the onetime construction worker who found fame and fortune in “Riverdance” and “Lord of the Dance.” After a few years away from the stage -- and an ongoing court fight over a Las Vegas night with an ex-stripper -- Flatley returns to performing with a new spectacular, “Celtic Tiger.” Flatley spoke by phone ....

Flatley grabs ‘Celtic Tiger’ by the tail...“Celtic Tiger” looks to be his biggest show yet, with a company of 60 dancers, a 60-person crew backstage, a live band and what Flatley describes as the world’s largest television screen. “It’s a celebration of Ireland and the heroes, and a celebration of Ireland as a nation having to overcome so many different things in its history,” [Flatley] said.

Ironically, the most exciting dance sequences in the performance Thursday night at The Q were the ones that stuck closest to tradition. The entertaining family show opened on a dark stage with the full ensemble tapping rhythms in precise unison. Later, the male dancers portrayed British redcoats and Irish workers using their hard heels and quick kicks to play out a battle to the death. The women, wearing soft shoes, jumped softly, formed graceful patterns and rose briefly on their toes.

Not terribly Celtic; not much of a tigerToo many bells, whistles, bellybuttons detract from Flatley's dancingby TOM STRINI for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Then the intimidated stew bucks up and decides to give the boys what they want. Off go the glasses and the cap, down comes a cascade of tresses, and she's into a full bump-and-grind strip, right down to her red, white and blue bikini bra and panties. At this, the hooting, hollering boys scamper off the stage. When she's down to her underwear, two of them dash back, wrap the beauty in an American flag and hustle her off the stage.

Michael Flatley is a commanding stud on the stage, a tough guy with supple hips and feet that move with jackhammer speed. Noticeably heftier than when he leaped center stage in the original "Riverdance" with the chesty pride of a caped crusader, Flatley's blue-collar body still, at age 47, floats effortlessly above his fluttering feet. It can be breathtaking to watch him dance.

Talent is one thing; taste is another, and it doesn't take a purist to wonder why Flatley's latest arena-size extravaganza, "Celtic Tiger" (at the Patriot Center Saturday night), tried so hard to emulate ads for American beer and pickup trucks. The show was an orgy of flag-waving and sentiment, with Flatley escorting dear old Ireland and its proud culture into the commercial glitz of 21st-century America.

It starts out like Gladiator crossed with Liberace and ends, a couple of hours later, with multiple encores of Yankee Doodle Dandy. Welcome to Michael Lord of the Dance Flatley’s latest extravaganza, a salute to Hibernian pride and boundless ego.

Flatley is probably one of the few professional dancers who can be considered a global household name. I had a hunch that his Celtic Tiger would be a big, cheesy blockbuster, but would it actually yield any fun?

On stage, Flatley clicks his heels and suddenly we're catapulted through selected highlights of Irish history, portrayed through toetaps and leprechaun leaps. Is this some mutant hybrid of Riverdance, the Wizard of Oz and Rocky Horror? Yes, it really is - only not in a good way.

Even these, though are nothing compared to the mawkish scene in which Flatley appears as a praying priest and is gunned down by a group of English soldiers.

Worse still is the master-servant relationship he appears to have with his dancers. He is like some evil genius that has created an army of permanently smiling Stepford wives-style robots, making the whole production smack of megalomania.

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